Good For The Soul
by GirHugs
Summary: Chicken noodle soup - and, really, just food in general - is good for the soul. (Or...random scenes featuring Tony and food.)
1. Sweet Treat, Small Comfort

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Iron Man or the Avengers.

* * *

Jarvis stirs the dough methodically, trying to ignore the oppressive silence that has settled over the large mansion now that all the yelling has finally stopped. Jarvis has seen Mr. Stark reprimand Anthony before, but it certainly never gets easier to witness.

Scooping out a spoonful of dough, he drops it into the hot oil, watches it darken and burn. He turns down the heat on the stove and waits a few minutes to let the oil cool a bit before trying again. This time the dough puffs up nicely and turns a warm golden brown. As he settles into a rhythm – scoop, pierce, drop, watch, flip over, watch, retrieve, repeat – his thoughts wander, and not to a terribly pleasant place.

For the most part, the elder Stark seems content to simply ignore his son's existence. And though it might be painful to watch the way Mr. Stark's casual indifference towards Anthony hurts the poor child, in a lot of ways, it is it the best scenario. Because during those rare moments when Mr. Stark sets aside his company and his alcohol and actually looks at his son, he always manages to find something lacking in the boy.

(He's too short. He's not excelling quickly enough in school. He's not enough of a leader to his peers. He's not _good_ enough.)

With each cold, harsh critique, Anthony fades a little more. Howard is so wrapped up in his own demons that he doesn't notice the ones he is creating within his son.

Jarvis puts the finishing touches on the sugary confections and then loads up a plate. As he approaches Anthony's room, he thinks on what to say to the boy. Is there anything he _can_ say? Encouraging words from a butler seem like an inadequate replacement for words that _should_ be coming from a father.

"Master Anthony?" Jarvis calls out as he knocks softly on the door.

The silence stretches on long enough that Jarvis wonders if Anthony will deny him entrance. But then his young master calls out for him to come in. Jarvis kindly ignores the way the boy's voice breaks slightly.

Jarvis sees Anthony hunched over his desk, hundreds of papers scattered across its surface. The newly turned teenager is busy scribbling complex equations across sheets of paper.

"I brought you something to eat," Jarvis says as he sets the plate down on a small stretch of bare wood. His eyes flicker over the strewn out papers and feels his heart clench when he spots the wet smudges marring the topmost pages.

Anthony pauses in his frantic scribbling for a moment and glances up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "'M not hungry," he mumbles before hunching further over his papers.

Jarvis nods once and stares mournfully at the shadow of a boy in front of him. "Well," the butler clears his throat and steps away slowly. "I'll just leave them there in case you get hungry later."

Just as he is about to exit, Anthony calls out.

"Hey, Jarvis."

The butler pauses at the threshold to the room. Looking back, he sees Anthony staring at the plate with an indecipherable look on his face. Jarvis wonders if the boy remembers those afternoons spent baking and laughing in the kitchen like he does. Wonders if he'll say something to let Jarvis know that his attempts at small comforts are welcome or even noticed.

Anthony opens his mouth to speak and then quickly snaps his jaw shut. His face closes off even more and with a firm shake of his head, Anthony turns back to his desk and his furious scribbling.

"You're dismissed, Jarvis," Anthony throws out over his shoulder, distracted and indifferent and so much like his father.

Jarvis feels his heart break a little.

* * *

**A/N:** Can anyone guess what Jarvis made for Tony? Hint: the food is part of a memorable scene in IM2 (which I will be writing about in a later chpt)


	2. A Real, American Cheeseburger

He knows what he has to do. He knows that his life and his work can't progress the same as it did before being…just, Before. And that's exactly why he calls for the press conference. Because he knows his decision isn't going to go over well with Obie or the board and he knows they would try to stop him; he isn't giving them that chance.

But before he can set about fixing his company and his life, before he even gets around to ordering that press conference, he demands that they go get cheeseburgers.

Pepper, who is far too used to his nonsensical ways, simply rolls her eyes in exasperation as she starts making calls. She doesn't know how much this simple little thing means to Tony. And he won't tell her, because it will make him sound insane.

But he can't help it.

He's dreamed of being rescued before. He's imagined his homecoming. He's seen visions of Rhodey and Pepper and Obie that greet him with smiles but vanish into nothing as he gets left behind in the new, harsh reality of that cave. So all of this? The escape and the rescue and the _people_? They aren't enough.

Tony spent hours each night thinking about the people that were out there and in danger because he was too busy partying to keep an eye on where _his_ weapons were going. And he was so focused on getting out and going home and back to his company and his people – small in number though they may be – that he failed to remind himself of the simpler things in life too.

So what he wants – and maybe sort of _needs_, just to prove to himself that this isn't some sort of delusion his mind has conjured up – is that cheeseburger. Because sometime during those three months in that cave, where he was only ever fed – if they bothered to feed him at all – bland and tasteless mush...he forgot the taste of real, American food. He _forgot_.

So it's that moment, when he takes his first bite of the cheeseburger, which is greasy and over-processed and will probably have him puking later because his stomach can't handle rich, heavy food yet and it's so much worse but also so much better than anything his broken mind could imagine…it's _that_ moment when he finally breathes easy and realizes he made it. He's free. He's home. He's _safe_.


	3. Ray's Pizza (Beginning and End)

The first time Obadiah brought him Ray's pizza was the night of his parents' burial.

Throughout everything – getting the news about their deaths, being informed that Obadiah would lead SI until he was of age, making preparations for their burial with Obadiah, giving his speech, watching their caskets being lowered down, shaking hands with hundreds of people he knew didn't truly care about his 'loss' – Tony didn't shed a single tear. No, it wasn't until Obadiah walked into the living room with a large pepperoni pizza from Ray's, collapsed onto the couch next to him, pulled him into a hug, and said 'I'm sorry, kiddo' that Tony finally broke.

He cried and sobbed and yelled and screamed and begged and _broke_. Because it didn't matter that Maria and Howard never quite knew what to do with or how to handle Tony. It didn't matter that they weren't even close to getting a 'Parents of the Year' award, because they were still _his parents_. They were gone and Tony was alone and Obadiah was _there_.

So in a way, Ray's pizza was kind of like their starting point. Before then, Obadiah had always been _Howard's_ business partner and _Howard's_ friend. But now, Howard was gone. And Obadiah became Obie, who was _Tony's_ mentor and _Tony's_ business partner.

It all began in that living room with a box from Ray's.

Decades later, Obie brings him another pizza from Ray's and tells Tony that the board is going to vote him out. And Tony doesn't think much of it at the time, but later, when the dust has settled and Pepper is safe and Obie is dead, Tony wonders if Obie remembered the night that marked their beginning and brought that pizza to mark their end as well.


End file.
